Your father held a high-ranking position in the United States Navy, as did Mr. Morrison. They were very good friends and even saw each other during vacations, whether fishing or out for walks. Occasionally, Mr. Morrison would bring his eldest son, Jim, with him.

That's where you and Jim met. You started talking, especially since you shared a love of reading and poetry, so you became friends, even though Jim was a year older than you.

Mr. Morrison noticed his son's closeness to you, as did your father, so the two of them arranged for you to eventually get married, one way or another.

And so it was, Jim gradually fell in love with you over time, though he hid it so you wouldn't lose your friendship.

Today you were at Jim's house after school, the two of you talking in a nest of blankets and pillows in his room about poetry, and among the many books you had read together, scattered to one side, you decided to pick up one that was among the pillows, a book of poetry written by Jim.

"Hey! Don't take that! Give it to me!" he began to insist, his voice tinged with amusement, thinking you were going to give it to him.